


The Wolf's Howl

by JonsaInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, jon and sansa as parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:58:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7517839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonsaInTheNorth/pseuds/JonsaInTheNorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Their first daughter  looks like a Targaryen- white hair, lilac eyes, long body. But everybody can see the North in her, can see the free folk in the way she speaks, can see the ice in her eyes, can see Robb, Cat, Ned, Rickon, and every Stark who ever walked in Westeros in her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolf's Howl

Arya is more of her namesake than either of her parents expected her to be, but also appears less Stark than anyone north of the Neck. Her silver-white hair shimmers underneath the sun, and her lilac eyes sparkles against the firelight while her mother sing her to sleep. Jon marvels as he watches wife and babe. Despite the Valyrian in her looks, his daughter’s face is as solemn as a statue, as quiet as a godswood.

“She will have a strange life.” He says, wrapping his arms round behind Sansa.

Sansa kisses Arya’s forehead before setting her into the swinging cradle. She leans back against her husband. “Aye, but a happy one.”

As she grows into her long limbs and lithe body, Arya grows away from her mother’s wishes. Sansa smiles with each escape from the sewing chamber, and laughs each time she finds her daughter in the training yard or stables. 

The other girls of the castle whisper, to see the Targaryen girl run so free and wild, but the older women know differently.

Arya is Lyanna reborn, truly her father’s daughter. She rides as if the horse is an extension of her own legs, and from the minute Jon sets a sword in her hand she is besting her brothers, elder and younger alike. Sansa insists that Arya learn her courtesies, but more and more of the Northern Princess’ time is spent learning to be a warrior.

It is when they find her crying in her mother’s room that Jon begins to worry.

“Lyra Flint said I’m not a true Northerner!” She sobs against his shoulder. “She says that no Northerner isn’t dark, that I don’t belong here because I look like Aunt Dany!”

He rubs her shoulders gently. Seven-years-old and hurt by the words of her peers; it is a familiar way to go. At this age, he discovered what being a bastard meant.

“Your mother is bright like a flame and she’s more Northern than any Flint.” He says, trying to calm the mounting anger he feels towards the girl, who is younger than Arya. Jon pulls his daughter upright so she is looking at him. “You are a Stark of Winterfell, no matter what anyone says. You will always be a Stark, Arya.”

“Really?” She rubs her eyes, so bright against her pale skin, and stares up at her father.

“Of course.” He tossles her hair. “Your grandmother was a wild thing like you, and they call her the Rose of the North in the songs. Don’t let Lyra’s words get to you. A wise man once told me, you must know who you are and wear your identity like armor.

“Know this: you are a Targaryen in your features, but a Stark in your heart. You are a direwolf, and none can take that from you.”  
  
“Yes, Father.”  
  
His daughter grows strong, and reminds others often of their house, of their words. Never again does she cry for who she is, for the words of others, because wolves are stronger than the whistling winds.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out and fangirl about Jonsa and other ASOIAF/GOT goodness with me on [tumblr](http://jonsa-in-the-north.tumblr.com).


End file.
